Shawn and Gus vs Sherlock and John
by mirror-cannibal
Summary: What happens when our beloved SBPD team is transferred to work a case in London? How do Sherlock and John feel about a new duo taking their place, and what will they do to keep that from happening? (I suck at summaries, but ya get the idea ;)
**So this is just a Sherlock and Psych Crossover, just cuz I wanted to have their most similar characters interacting...I'm definitely planning on bringing out more characters from each show, so don't worry about the shortage at the moment ;) Let me know what you think, and what you want to see between these troublesome guys in the future! (I'm definitely going to continue, idk if this is a popular crossover, but I really want to see them solving cases together and everything, I think it'll be very interesting!)**

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Sherlock walked up to the crime scene, followed by John. The rain was beating down on the asphalt, and they entered the house in which the victim had been brutally murdered, shaking the rain out of their hair.

"Where's the body?" Sherlock asked the forensics guy in the front, and he pointed upstairs. Jumping two or three steps at a time, Sherlock bounded up while John followed at a more normal pace.

"Sherlock, for God's sake—" John stopped when they reached the top, where a woman with short blonde hair seemed to be directing everything. "Hey, where's Lestrade?"

The woman turned to them. "Oh, hello. You must be Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson. Mr. Lestrade has told me quite a lot about you. Unfortunately I will not be needing your services anymore."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock looked perplexed, and if not for the strangeness of the situation, John would've laughed.

"I'm sorry, allow me to introduce myself. I am Karen Vick, previous Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department in America, but I'll be replacing Mr. Lestrade now. He's been transferred."

"Transferred?" John asked. "What—why?"

Sherlock was still stuck on another point. "What do you mean, you don't need us? You can't get anything done without us."

"Sherlock!" John whispered.

"I'm just stating the facts!" Sherlock hissed back.

Vick cleared her throat. "I mean just that. You may have been the two miracle workers before, but I have my own special duo working for me. I'm sorry, boys, but you've been replaced."

"Replaced?" Sherlock was absolutely bewildered by the thought that this was even possible.

"By…who?" John squinted at her disbelievingly. She motioned to the corner of the room, where the forensics were starting to thin out and they could see the mangled body thrown there.

"Go on, meet them for some closure. But after you talk, I'm going to have to treat you both as civilians and get you off the crime scene. Thank you for your previous works in this field; I'm told you've helped a lot, but I can only manage one freak on my team."

 _Freak?_ Sherlock and John made their way to the body, next to which two men stood, clearly standing out from the rest of the team. The one man was wearing a green T-shirt and jeans, the other a collared shirt and dress pants, as opposed to the usual attire of the police.

"These guys work for the police?" John muttered to Sherlock as they approached. "How much can you figure out about them?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Everything. But I'll save that for the right time." The two men noticed they were approaching.

"Hello, fellas!" The man in the T-shirt waved them over, and they noticed he was holding a Styrofoam plate of fish and chips. _What…?_

"Food at a crime scene?" John whispered to Sherlock. "How do they allow that?"

"They must tolerate a lot from these men…just how good are they?" Sherlock murmured back.

The T-shirt guy smiled at them as they came up. "Hey, heard you were the guys that helped out before us! Well, we're just following Chief Vick, so sorry about kinda taking your jobs. Do you even get paid for this?"

"Um…"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Shawn Spencer, psychic detective. This is my associate, Chocolate Einstein—"

The suit guy poked Shawn in the ribs. "My name is Burton Guster. Pleased to meet you."

"I'm John Watson," John hesitantly introduced himself. "This is Sherlock Holmes." Suddenly another man approached, glaring at Shawn and Burton.

"Spencer, Guster, what the hell are you doing here?"

Shawn held up his hands—taking care to keep his plate of food flat. "Relax, Lassie, the Chief called us. We were just meeting with these two good men. Right, men?"

"Wait, why are you even here? Why did Lestrade get transferred?" John was still quite confused. "And if he was the only one transferred, why do we have your whole team here?"

"Oh, your whole team was transferred, too," the other man, Lassie, spoke up. "Did they not tell you? Oh, I'm Carlton Lassiter, by the way. Pleasure to make your acquaintance…for the moment, that is."

"Only this moment?" Sherlock mused, picking out tiny details of importance in the way the three men looked, acted, and conversed.

"Well, you know you're not working for us anymore, right? Though I'd be so, _so_ happy to replace Spencer with anyone…but no, Chief just _had_ to have her freak on the case…" Lassiter shook his head.

"Now, now, Lassie, that rudeness is uncalled for," Shawn clicked his tongue disapprovingly, taking a bite of his food.

"Why are you eating at a crime scene?" Lassiter seemed to notice for the first time the plate of fish and chips.

"Come now, Lassie, the fish and chips here are simply to die for. Right, Gus?" He turned to his partner.

"Shut up, Shawn. Let's get going with this case."

"Hold on just a moment," Sherlock interrupted. "What makes you think you can just swoop in here and take our jobs? We have as much a right to be here as you. I'd like to see how capable you are before just turning over."

Shawn looked around at everyone standing there, then grinned and laughed a bit. "Your dramatics are making me nervous, Sherlock—can I call you Sherlock?"

"Oh, whatever you like." Sherlock's voice was dangerously pleasant, but the new freak didn't seem to catch its ominous undertone, or he simply didn't care.

"Very well then. _Ahem._ I will…read the situation." Shawn put a finger to his temple and looked at the body; it was a middle-aged man, whose face was beaten and cut almost beyond recognition. Everyone there followed his gaze and observed the scene before them, but Sherlock was watching Shawn.

 _This man is no psychic._ The first thought that popped into Sherlock's mind. Shawn's eyes were furiously flicking around, a slight smirk pulling at his mouth every time they hesitated. He was obviously picking up clues just by observing. _Why would he call himself a psychic then? He's just doing the same thing I do._

Sherlock looked at John. _What?_ John mouthed. Sherlock just shook his head, wondering what he should do. He could expose this man as a fraud, but who knew if he had a backup to disprove that? Knowing most police, they wouldn't have accepted him as a psychic from the beginning. There had to be tests, verifications, and this man had somehow passed all of them. He had the trust of the entire police department behind him.

 _Except…_ Sherlock looked at Carlton Lassiter. He almost oozed distaste for the "psychic." If anyone at the scene doubted Shawn Spencer's ability, it would be him. _How can I use this man's distrust to my advantage? If I reveal Spencer as a fake psychic, will they keep him as a detective? Will it even help me at all?_

"I'm sensing," Shawn Spencer burst out, making everyone jump and interrupting Sherlock's thoughts. He noticed that Spencer's eyes were closed now, his finger still touched to his temple. _So this psychic likes dramatics too…_

"This man was involved in a dangerous mafia of sorts." _As evidenced, obviously, by the tattoo in his arm,_ Sherlock mused. _Elementary. What else did he notice? How well can he observe?_

"I'm seeing…a fight. A struggle. He did not go quietly, and the murderer is a little beaten up himself." _The rope marks on the victim's wrists and the splits on his fingernails and knuckles._ Sherlock smirked a little. _Impressive, most wouldn't have caught that among the rest of the marks on the body._

Spencer opened his eyes and put his hand down. "Find the mafia he was in, find the beaten-up dude, and bam! Case closed."

Sherlock looked at Shawn suspiciously. _All he's doing is observing, and making it into a theatric of psychic abilities. Yet his mind works like a detective's. Why would he pretend?_

Shawn glanced back down at the mangled body, then his eyes met Sherlock's. He grinned, then took another bite of his food.

 _Just who is this man? And how do I get rid of him?_


End file.
